


I look like I have everything together (but really, I'm a disaster)

by JPuzzle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental!Pickup lines, Crack, F/F, Flirty!Clarke, Lexa has feelings, No Angst, Swearing, gay disaster!lexa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6276262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JPuzzle/pseuds/JPuzzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s the thing, if someone looked up Lexa in the dictionary, she’s pretty sure that her definition would be BADASS. She’s a well respected lawyer - badass, she can deadlift a hundred and eighty pounds on a good day - badass, she beat the shit out of a mugger last year and didn’t think twice about it. Badass.</p><p>Except women. </p><p>Lexa is hopeless with women.</p><p>Wherein Lexa is a gay disaster, Clarke flirts and all of their friends and relations are  done with these idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap. Now I’m writing fanfiction. I should be writing an Archaeology presentation. This seemed more fun. God help us all. Because GayDisaster!Lexa is the besta and flirty!Clarke is fun. I own nothing. But fuck you Jason. 
> 
> Mad props and huge thanks go to Popper for looking over this, offering concrit and enabling me to continue this. You let me babble at you about gaydisaster!Lexa and Archaeology. Cheers :)

It’s a Monday and she’s standing in line waiting for her daily dose of caffeine. Anya’s in their usual booth - she’s already got her order and she looks irritated. Something has happened at work or someone’s told her to have a great day and she’s taking it personally; Lexa can never tell which.

She should be focusing on her order but the sun chooses to be an asshole and shine right-the-fuck in her eyes; so she focuses on the head of the person in front of her and watches as they move to the front of the queue. Wonderful, she’s next and she’s blind. She squints up at the menu board, trying to decipher the too-bright squiggles and swirls. Maybe she’ll just have something simple today, it’s not like she can see what’s on the menu anyway.

Lexa hears the woman in front of her order a macchiato and she'll be damned if her world doesn’t narrow and tilt. She squints, trying to pick out more than the blurry figure in front of her as the voice in front of her husks out a response to a question. Lexa’s heart stops for a moment and she wants to crawl inside that sound and live in it. Her vision clears and - shit, she’s blonde too.

Fuck.

She starts as she hears a low cough, blinks and turns to see a waistcoated gentleman point to the cashier. Right, coffee. She’s at the front of the line. She should order. Shit. What does she want again? When Lexa can form words she asks for a blonde-wait, no, a latte. God, she’s _such_ a disaster. She pays the cashier, who is looking at her like she’s a dangerous individual who should be handled with as much caution as the bomb disposal unit uses when defusing explosives, and shuffles to the side to await her caffeine.

Here’s the thing, if someone looked up Lexa in the dictionary, she’s pretty sure that her definition would be **BADASS** . She’s a well respected lawyer - **badass** , she can deadlift a hundred and eighty pounds on a good day - **badass** , she beat the shit out of a mugger last year and didn’t think twice about it. **Badass**.

Except.

 _Except women_.

 _Lexa is hopeless with women._ So much so that she’s pretty sure that if anyone looked up gay disaster on urban dictionary, they’d find a picture of her and a detailed account of her horrific attempts to get laid. She feels this diminishes her capacity as a badass - which is why it is **rarely** spoken of. Well. Unless Anya is the one doing the talking. Bitch. Lexa thinks that one of these days, Anya might actually go to urban dictionary and create an entry just to screw with her. The thought does nothing for her mood and she wants her damn coffee.

Which is why, when she hears an order being called, she moves forward and accepts it without a thought. Except that’s when she hears **her** , hears **the voice** -

“Excuse me, but you just hijacked my coffee.”

Shit.

Lexa’s eyes widen as she turns and this day is getting worse by the minute. It’s the blonde goddess and she’s staring at her in bemusement, a single eyebrow raised on her perfect fucking face. Fuck, her eyes are so blue. She doesn’t think, she can feel her mouth open but she feels totally disconnected from the action as she hears the words tumble from her

“That’s okay, you can hijack me later.”

Lexa’s eyes widen further as the blonde’s eyebrows climb up her forehead and her heart stutters and dies in her chest as slim, pale fingers reach out and pluck the steaming cup from her grasp.

Wait. Wait. What did she just say?

Lexa’s brain screeches to a halt and her stomach flips as the other women takes a slow sip of her macchiato.

God, the way her tongue flicks out to lick foam from her lip should be _illegal_.

Before Lexa can register what’s happening, the blonde sets her empty cup on the barista’s bar and casually steps into her personal space. A small smirk plays on her lips as she leans in and, **God** , Lexa can’t breathe; this gorgeous woman is leaning into her, she’s so close that she can feel her breath against her lips and Lexa **cannot** breathe. She forgets everything about herself in a moment, her name, her birthday and her coffee order as she watches the goddess’ lips part, the smile getting wider as she husks

“ _T_ _hat’s what she said._ ”

If Lexa’s brain wasn’t so caught up in the sheer panic of what she had just said and done or trying to process just how close this breathtaking woman was to her or wondering for the umpteenth time in her life **why** she says the things she does; she’d have noticed the barista yelling her order repeatedly. The subject of her panic steps back, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as her fingertips run along Lexa’s arm. Blondie wishes her a good day, her body brushing against her as she moves past her and towards the exit.

  
Lexa stands there for a long moment, stock still, heart thudding and dumbfounded before she is tapped on the shoulder by the same gentleman who coughed earlier. Lexa could swear that his mouth is moving and he’s definitely making noises but she can’t register the sound coming out as words. She doesn’t register them until he points to the barista and then the world, her brain and her utter mortification drag her back to reality.

She snatches the coffee from the barista’s outstretched hand, thanks him perfunctorily and staggers back to the booth where Anya is waiting for her. It’s their thrice weekly-and-once-on-weekends coffee catch up. Lexa sets her latte down onto the table with an emphatic thunk and slumps into the booth, burying her head in her hands as she lets out a long, low moan of embarrassment.

Anya snorts, “You sound like a seal in mating season.”

Lexa raises her head, green eyes peeking out from behind long, thin fingers as she hunches over, sliding down into the seat. She can feel Anya’s gaze on her, cool and assessing. Silence stretches between them for a long moment before she hears Anya speak, exasperation and amusement lacing her words -

“Did you at least get a name this time?”

Fuck.

She wants the seat to swallow her. She slinks further down into the cushions and Anya lets out a bark of laughter. Lexa takes her hands away from her face and **glares** at her.

"You're supposed to be supportive."

That does not have the desired effect and Anya is laughing harder. Bitch. When she calms and the laughter trickles away, she clears her throat, mock sympathy written all over her face as she asks

"How bad are we talking on the sliding scale of disaster? Was it as bad as the time you asked the hot bartender to marry you because you're badass or the time that you thought the hot girl was staring at you so you went over to talk, tripped over her and told her you'd fallen for her?"

Anya is never going to let her forget the fact that she’s a disaster, it's her comfort food on her otherwise catastrophic days. Lexa straightens, takes a sip of her rapidly cooling latte and purses her lips. She is a badass. She should not have to put up with this shit. So she does what any self-respecting badass would do in this situation.

She changes the subject.

"How's work?"

The expression on Anya's face settles back into irritation. Work, then.

"I swear, the idiots I have to deal with. They wouldn't know how to wipe their asses if I gave them step by step instructions **with** diagrams."

Her fingers reflexively curl around her cup - **always** green tea, _because it's healthy, Lexa,_ and her eyes narrow as she notices Lexa's ploy.

"On the plus side, they're less disastrous than your dating life. I saw you from here, Lex. She was practically rubbing up against you. Next time, ask for her name."

She doesn't tell Anya but she's already decided - if she does see gorgeous blonde again, she's going to try to be coherent.

Fuck.

This is going to end so badly.

 

****

 

It’s Monday and Clarke is _exhausted._ She's just come off of a double shift at the hospital and she desperately needs caffeine. She should be going home to her bed but she promised Octavia she'd watch the fight tonight and supply the food so she needs to be either caffeinated and coherent enough to make sure Raven doesn't set fire to the kitchen **again** or drunk enough not to care. The problem is that they're now on a first name basis with the local Fire Department and she's amazed that they haven't been charged with arson.

Clarke doesn't want to tempt fate.

The line shuffles forward and her foggy mind registers the fact that she'll be served next. She'll need something strong. Octavia has a tendency to yell at the TV and Raven loves to antagonise her into it. A ristretto, maybe? No. Foam, she wants foam. A macchiato, then, triple shot. The man in front of her finishes ordering and moves off to hover near the barista. She steps forward. The girl behind the register looks deeply bored and deeply disinterested. Clearly in college.

“Welcome to Grounders, may I take your order?”

Clarke wonders if she's a robot.

“Yeah, could I please order a triple shot macchiato?”

“Do you have a members card?”

Maybe they’ve managed to create artificial intelligence. She should ask Raven. Raven would know.

“No.”

The cashier stares blankly at her and speaks slowly, like she thinks Clarke’s an idiot.

“Do..you..want..one”

Christ. A smartass robot.

Her voice breaks and husks as she declines and pays; she’s way too tired to put up with this.

She walks shakily to the barista’s bar to await her order. She’s lost her second wind and she’s flagging. Maybe she should bring Raven here to conduct a Turing test on the cashier. She’d love that. Clarke’s thoughts wander distractedly - never quite landing on one subject before drifting to the next. She hears the barista yell

“ _Triple shot macchiato! I got a triple shot macchiato here.”_

**_Thank. God._ **

She steps forward to collect her ambrosia but before she can accept the cup containing her salvation, a well-dressed brunette barges in front of her and takes it.

Clarke may kill her.

“Excuse me,” she says, attempting to inject the affronted exhaustion of a double shift, a smartass robot and the impending night with her two lunatic friends into her words “but you just hijacked my coffee.”

The brunette turns slowly and, _wow_ , her eyes are so **green**. She’s clutching at Clarke’s macchiato and, to be fair, she looks like she’s just been hit by a four by four.

An honest mistake then.

Murder will have to wait for another day.

She’s just about to pry her cup from the brunette’s long, thin fingers and stops, seeing Green Eyes’ lips part and blurt out “That’s okay, you can hijack me later.”

Huh.

Her eyebrows climb up her forehead and she allows herself to look - actually look at the coffee thief. Her cheekbones look like they can cut glass and her eyes have widened impossibly larger. She’s gorgeous. She’s also panicking. Clarke should not find this endearing.

Clarke’s lips tug into a slow smirk, making sure to maintain eye contact with the wide-eyed woman as she plucks her macchiato from the panicky brunette’s death grip and takes a slow sip. Her tongue flicks out to lick the foam from her top lip and Clarke swears she sees the breath leave Green Eyes. She drains the last of her macchiato and she feels emboldened as she places the empty cup on the barista’s bar. She steps into the brunette’s space, leans in until their lips nearly touch. The coffee thief is taller than Clarke and she’s almost tempted to kiss her. Instead, her smile widens and she husks

“ _That’s what she said.”_

Tall-and-gorgeous’ back stiffens and she looks like she’s about to keel over. Okay, enough, Clarke. She steps back, oddly satisfied with how her day has turned out. She runs her fingers along Green Eyes’ arm and says

“You have a great day.”

Clarke moves past the brunette, making sure to brush against her  as she _swaggers_ towards the door. She’s firmly hit her third wind. She should come back to this place. Maybe she’ll run into the brunette again. That would be fun. If not, well, Raven can still conduct that Turing test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> If anyone has any concrit or wants to talk about these two idiots, I can be poked on tumblr under jixorpuzzle
> 
> There will be more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Anya needs and is given more material for her shitty days, Lexa makes more animal noises, Lincoln is blushing, Octavia is a pain in the ass, Raven is dying (not literally) and Clarke is hungover and still flirts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More crack! Thank you so much for the responses, they’re fueling me. As usual, I don’t own it. But fuck you Jason.
> 
> As always, mad props and deepest, deepest thanks to popper for looking over this. You're a legend among women.

In retrospect, Lexa should have realised something was up when Anya asked her to lunch. Anya never eats lunch with anyone if she can help it. She hasn't since middle school. She says it helps with her “Don’t Fuck With Me” vibe. 

Lexa thinks she’s trying too hard. 

That said, she vividly remembers The Mashed Potato Incident from last year. She has to admit, after that clusterfuck, no one has wanted to eat with Anya. Maybe she has a point. Who is Lexa to argue with brand image? She cultivates her own with just as much care. The cops at Anya’s precinct call her Commander Badass, Commander for short. Lexa would honestly prefer it if they’d call her Badass but, she supposes, you can’t win them all.  

Lexa has a  _ reputation _ to uphold. 

She can stride through the precinct with her briefcase in her hand and her badass lawyer face on and they all skitter away from her like frightened ducklings. Yeah, they better run, she's going to tear their flimsy ass evidence away and shove it right where the sun don't shine.

Fuck, it makes her giddy just thinking about it.

So, Lexa’s doing her thing, striding down the halls of the precinct like a badass and making the thirty-something year old ducklings quake in fear. Life is good and Anya has offered to pay for lunch. 

That should have been her second clue.

Anya is a cheapskate, Lexa is lucky if she can get Anya to spring for a bottle of water at a baseball game let alone a beer. 

_ It's highway robbery, Lex. I'm a cop, I shouldn't support theft. _

She shakes her head. Who the fuck shells out for a ticket and refuses to buy a beverage? It's a fucking pastime. She'd tried to argue that the tickets were highway robbery. Anya had stared at her until she'd shut up.

Lexa loves her but sometimes Anya scares the shit out of her. Her fear is not without foundation. Anya had half shaved Lexa's head in the middle of the night when she was eight because she'd gone and told their aunt Indra that Anya had been dancing with a boy on her couch, saying  _ bad words _ and moaning a lot. Lexa had been pretty focused on the _ bad words. _

Indra had not.

Indra had replaced the couch and put plastic covering over the new one - all the while muttering under her breath about hormonal teenagers and how she had enough of them to deal with at work without coming home to this shit. Then she'd looked Lexa in the eye and had made her promise that she’d  _ never _ grow up and that she'd  _ never  _ ruin someone else's couch. 

Ten years later when she was with Costia, she had broken that promise. Indra had come home and had seen them at each other on the plastic covered couch. She had stared at them for a moment, pinched the bridge of her nose, sighed deeply and walked out the front door, slamming it after her. Costia had laughed and they'd kept going. 

Indra had the plastic replaced. She’d made Lexa pay for it.

The point is that Anya has never let her forget The Couch Incident and Lexa still sleeps with one eye open - just in case.

She's so distracted by thoughts of her pain-in-the-ass sister that she barrels into someone in the hallway. 

Fuck it. Who fucked up her walk? She has a  _ reputation  _ to maintain. She owns thes- 

Shit.

It's the blonde from the coffee shop.

Lexa feels the briefcase slip from her grasp and drop to the floor with a thud. The realisation registers somewhere in the corner of her mind that the latch on her briefcase has broken and her documents are  _ everywhere.  _ Her badass lawyer face slides away like water and the noise that escapes her sounds like a dying cow. Damnit. She has a  _ reputation _ here. She is badass. She is eloquent. She is well-respected. She just made a cow noise. Fuck. The ducklings will never run from her again.

Blondie takes a step back, blue eyes raking over the (badass) ensemble that Lexa's rocking. Lexa feels the sweat beading on her forehead. She has to stay calm, she has to stay cool and collected. This cannot be a repeat of the- 

“So I know you stole my coffee but I don't think I pressed charges.”

Shit. Blonde Goddess remembers her.

Lexa feels her cheeks grow warm and honestly, she’s hoping that she doesn’t look like a tomato after all is said and done.She has to stay calm. She just has to stay quiet, she just has to look like a badass and no one will notice.

She made a fucking cow noise earlier, who the fuck is she kidding?

Her jaw clenches. She will not talk. She won't say anything. She can't be a disaster if she doesn't say anything and remains completely still. She fights the impulse to respond, fights it and feels herself losing. She feels her jaw unclench, feels her traitorous mouth open and words fall out.

“I know your ass is amazing but I didn't think that was an arrestable offense either.”

Her spine stiffens and her eyes widen for a moment. She's losing composure and she knows it. Anya is going to have a fucking field day. Fuck Anya, she can see the  _ ducklings _ gathering.

God fucking damnit. All she wanted was a free lunch. A hiss of air leaves her pursed lips and she makes the mistake of breathing through her nose. Fuck. Blondie smells so  _ good. _

God, she can see one of the ducklings whipping out his fucking smart phone. It’ll be in their weekly “idiots” emails. They're sent precinct-wide for “morale.” Anya has told her about them, has shown her them. She’s  _ laughed _ at them. She particularly likes the one with the jackass who came into the precinct with a toilet seat over his head screaming about women being crazy. Apparently the idiot had forgotten to put the toilet seat down. His wife took it personally. Lexa doesn’t blame her. Damnit. She’s going to be like toilet seat guy.

She shifts awkwardly and glances at the gorgeous lady in front of her. Her eyes don’t know where to rest.  _ She’s so beautiful _ . Then her eyes stop, they alight at Blondie’s chest. Fuck. Best cleavage this side of the city. 

Fuck.

“I know they’re fabulous but my face is up here, Green Eyes.”

_ Green Eyes? _

Wait. Shit. Stop Lexa. She needs to look up. She's being a perv.

She forces herself to affix her gaze at Blondie's face. Short-and-gorgeous is smirking at her, her eyebrow is raised and Lexa wants to set herself on fire. She hadn't noticed in the coffee shop, Blondie has a freckle near her lip. Her palms start to sweat. Lexa clears her throat. Coherent, she'd promised herself that she'd be coherent. 

She doesn't know what else to do, she sticks her hand out in front of her and tries to introduce herself. Unfortunately what comes out is:

“m’Lexan’yourtongueisillegal.”

Fuck. She'll be in the “idiots” hall of fame.

Blondie laughs and _fuck_ _her_ if it isn't the most amazing sound she's ever heard. It's full throated with a huskiness that makes her want to prostrate herself in front of this goddess just as long as she keeps  _ laughing.  _

Blondie takes her hand, shakes it and Lexa nearly swallows her tongue. Her hold lingers, Blondie’s thumb is stroking her hand.  Her whole hand tingles. Her grip is light and the goddess is maintaining steady eye contact with her. 

Her lips part and her voice is rougher than it was in the coffee shop. 

“I know but I have friends on the force.  They protect me from all violations involving my tongue. I'm Clarke and you dropped your briefcase.”

Blondie has a name. Lexa has her name. Fuck, this is what it feels like to have success with women. Clarke is such a nice name. Clarke has not let go of her hand.  Her thumb is now tracing circles in the webbing between Lexa's thumb and her forefinger.  Her raised eyebrow is a thing of beauty. Clarke breaks eye contact and looks pointedly down at Lexa's documents strewn all over the floor.  Oh. Right.  Sensitive legal documents. All over the floor. In a police station. Shit. She should pick them up. 

Lexa kneels making to pick up her documentation, realises too late that Clarke's hand is still in hers and yanks her down with her.  Fuck. It feels like everything is playing out in slow motion as Clarke,  _ such a pretty name,  _ yelps, flails and falls forward onto Lexa. Her breath leaves her in a whoosh and she registers the weight of Clarke against her and the swell of her breasts against hers. Clarke's hand is running up her waist trying to steady herself. Lexa thinks that she might be having an aneurysm. If she dies from this, it'll be the best death she can think of. 

One of the ducklings guffaws. She's going to deal with him later. She needs to do some damage control. She'll rip his case wide open and feed his dick to him like a badass. The thought of the duckling whimpering in submission cheers her.

Lexa’s salvation comes in the form of her favourite pain in the ass striding down the hall like a pissed off Valkyrie. 

“For God’s sake, Lexa.  Hurry up or you're paying.”

She feels Anya’s strong hands grip her under the arms and haul her to standing. Clarke tumbles from her lap and she can't help but feel bitterly disappointed at the loss of contact. Her legs feel weak and wobbly and she's glad Anya’s supporting the brunt of her weight. She'd fall back down onto her ass if her asshole sister wasn't propping her up. Her reputation can't take another fall.

Clarke rises slowly and her gaze flicks nervously to Anya. She licks her lips and Lexa thinks she's brave to be committing a felony in a police station. 

Clarke speaks, inflection rough and husky.

“It was nice to meet you,  _ Lexa _ , perhaps I'll see you at that coffee shop.”

Lexa thinks that her name has never sounded so good.

She watches as Clarke walks slowly by her, her green eyes lingering on the blonde's fabulous ass.

Anya huffs impatiently beside her.

Lexa is so fucked.

 

****

 

Clarke wakes to the sound of “Eye of the Tiger” blaring in her ear. It's Octavia and she wants to murder her. Her head feels like it was placed in a blender and pulsed all night. She wants to die. She is  _ never _ drinking again. Christ, Octavia never gets hungover, Raven is probably dying in her room and  _ Jesus Christ, her phone won't shut up. _

She makes several abortive attempts to reach for it, her hand landing on sheets and pillows until she grunts in triumph.  _ There you are. _ She cracks one eye open and ugh. Who the hell invented light? Clarke thinks that whoever did should be lined up in front of a firing squad and shot. She answers her phone with a grunt and Octavia’s somewhere loud. Music is playing in the background. People are yelling. Clarke’s going to  _ kill  _ her. Octavia's voice is loud and rushed.

“I know you're hungover and I know it's your day off but I need you to do me a favour. Lincoln forgot his lunch, I can't get out of work and he can't buy food. He's on a strict diet to bulk up - part of his new training regimen.”

Bulk up? Is she serious? Lincoln is built like a tank.

God, they're so  _ disgustingly  _ gross.

Octavia had better name her first born after her for this. Christ, the things she does for her friends.

“Fine. You owe me for this. I swear, Octavia, I’ll exact it in blood if you don't hang up the fucking phone right now.”

She hears the telltale click and everything is blissfully silent until her phone dings. A text. Christ, why is this happening? It's Octavia. Again. Maybe she'll exact her payment in blood anyway.

_ i texted Lincoln he knows ur coming don't forget the note i left it on the counter. DON'T READ IT. _

She hears a whimper from down the hall and realises that Raven is awake. She rolls out of bed and her stomach rebels at the movement. 

Bathroom, Clarke. Now.

She stumbles her way down to the bathroom, leaning on the hallway as she goes and discovers that the porcelain throne is already occupied. Raven is slumped over the bowl, retching and whimpering. Christ.

She goes to the cabinet and retrieves two full packets of Tylenol, places one on the bathroom cabinet near to the toilet and staggers to the kitchen, the world tilting as she moves. She opens the cupboard containing the glasses and winces as it creaks open. It sounds like a jackhammer needling at her skull. Clarke moves to the sink and fills both glasses with water. She opens the fridge, takes two bottles of Gatorade and pads back to the bathroom, placing the glass and the bottle on the floor within Raven's reach. 

She'll bring back fast food, it will do them both good. Raven will resurrect herself after two hours near a toilet, plenty of hydration, Tylenol and the offer of something horrifically greasy. She always does.

She takes four Tylenol, slowly sips her water and downs the Gatorade. She waits for a good five minutes over the bathroom sink to make sure nothing will come back up. Her fingers dig into the wooden surface as she breathes deeply and feels the bathroom dip and sway around her. 

_Never._ _Again._

In the back of her mind, Clarke can't help but feel a small sense of accomplishment; the kitchen had not been set on fire. The Fire Department would be so proud.

She dresses haphazardly, cursing as she goes. God. She can't find her sunglasses. She's going to  _ kill  _ Octavia. 

Clarke grabs the plastic container from the kitchen bench and stuffs the innocuous looking note deep into her pocket.

Her phone buzzes to let her know that her ride is here. She stumbles down the stairs two at a time, gets into the car and closes her eyes. The driver doesn't talk. Thank God for small mercies. Ugh. The sun feels like it's burning through her eyelids are scarring her retinas. The motion of the stop-start traffic is making her stomach roil and she wonders again why she's doing this.

The car finally stops outside of the precinct and Clarke grunts her thanks at the driver, hefts the container into her arms and walks into the precinct.

She retrieves her phone from her pocket and texts Lincoln.

A couple of minutes later, she sees the elevator doors open and Lincoln steps out. She goes through the tedious process of emptying her pockets and walking through the metal detector. Lincoln greets her and takes her past security, through a long hallway to the bullpen and then steers her into the communal kitchen. Clarke leans against the kitchen bench for support as Lincoln takes the container from her. He opens it and has the  _ gall _ to look disappointed. 

She's about two seconds from dismembering her best friend's boyfriend in a police station until she remembers the note in her pocket. Clarke fishes out the crumpled wad and thrusts it towards him. The fluorescent lights in the station are making her head pound like a death metal concert. Christ. She wants to go back to bed.

Lincoln takes the note from her, smooths it out and she watches as his eyes scan the page. Is he - is he  _ blushing? _

Jesus Christ.  _ He is. _

Octavia got her out of bed to deliver him lunch and an old school sext. She's going to  _ eviscerate _ them both. Clarke narrows her eyes and glares at him. She clenches her teeth together, she doesn't want to speak, she's  _ so  _ close to losing it. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees an alarmingly tall and terrifying woman stalk towards them. She looks familiar but Clarke can't place her. Tall-and-Terrifying stares at her for a moment before her gaze alights on Lincoln and his reddening neck. She snorts, fills her coffee cup and walks away.

Clarke feels like she's narrowly avoided a strip search. She feels relieved. If she had to bend and squat in her condition, she'd fall on her face.

Clarke sighs, she’s done with this. She’s going back to bed. Her eyes fix upon Lincoln again and she scowls at him. spins on her heel and walks out of the bullpen, storming down the corridor. If her eyes weren’t half-slitted to avoid the light, maybe she would’ve avoided it. She slams into another body and the force of it winds her. She flings her hands out to steady herself and opens her eyes. 

_ Well, hello again. _

Clarke stumbles back and lets her eyes roam over the brunette. She's in a suit. She's breathtaking. Clarke may throw up on her. She hopes that Green Eyes doesn't take it personally. Tall-and-gorgeous drops her briefcase, the latch cracks open, documents scatter all over the floor and -  _ did she just moo?  _

She wonders if the sound that comes out of the brunette’s mouth is some kind of mating call. 

Honestly, Clarke wonders how the leggy wonder manages to function in the real world. 

Clarke speaks and winces as she hears her voice, rough and raw.

“So I know you stole my coffee but I don't think I pressed charges.”

She watches Green Eyes’ face flush and wonders if there’s a name for the particular shade. Endearing in Crimson, maybe? She should ask Octavia. Octavia hoardes cosmetics like a corrupt footballer hoardes steroids. Octavia also owes her a million favours.  Clarke needs to sit her down and explain in detail,  _ with a powerpoint presentation, _ why sexts are better confined to your  _ phone _ and  _ not _ your best friend’s pocket. 

The brunette’s jaw clenches, there’s a tick in her cheek and Clarke wonders for a moment if she’s managed to upset her. She relaxes when tall and gorgeous opens her mouth and says, with surprising composure - 

“I know your ass is amazing but I didn't think that was an arrestable offense either.”

Huh. Maybe she  _ is  _ capable of flirting.

Then she sees how the brunette’s spine stiffens, sees her eyes widen, the hiss of air leaving her lips and her feet shuffling awkwardly from side-to-side. 

Maybe not.

Clarke should be irritated, she should barge past her, catch a taxi and go to bed. She’s so hungover she can barely function but this _ , this  _ is making her day. So she ignores the pounding in her head and raises an eyebrow, smirking when she catches Tall-and-gorgeous ogling her breasts. 

So much for not interested.

Clarke rolls her shoulders back and puffs out her chest slightly. If the brunette is going to stare, she’s going to make sure that she’ll be incoherent for a week.

Clarke doesn’t think that it’d take much to make Green Eyes incoherent. 

Deep amusement colours her tone as she smirks and her eyebrow arches as she gazes at the suited disaster. 

“I know they’re fabulous but my face is up here, Green Eyes.”

The brunette’s eyes shoot back up to her face and the flush on her cheeks darkens, her breathing is uneven. Her hand thrusts out in front of her and another torrent of verbal diarrhea tumbles out - the words rushed and high pitched. 

“m’Lexan’yourtongueisillegal.”

_ Lexan? What in Christ’s name were her parents thinking naming her Lexan? _

_ Green Eyes remembers the coffee shop.  _

She’s glad she made an impression.

Clarke can’t hold it in anymore. The sheer absurdity of her morning, she’s so hungover, Raven’s in the bathroom dying, Octavia’s low-rent sext, Lincoln  _ blushing _ and now this gorgeous woman losing her mind in front of her. She throws her head back and loses it. Gales of laughter echo through the corridor and draw people from the bullpen. They echo in her head like church bells and she wants to shoot herself. 

Eventually, she calms and accepts the proffered hand. Green Eyes’ hands are cool and slightly damp. Her throat is aching and her voice is hoarse as she replies

“I know but I have friends on the force.  They protect me from all violations involving my tongue. I'm Clarke and you dropped your briefcase.” 

Green Eyes,  _ Lexan, _ has not dropped her hand. Clarke’s okay with that, she’s tracing slow circles along the back of her hand. Her stomach does a funny little flop and she’s fairly sure that she needs to get to a bathroom soon. Clarke doesn’t want to let go. She’d rather risk it and pull this ridiculous dork closer. She clears her throat. Not the time, Clarke, find a distraction. 

She looks pointedly down at the documents littering the floor and then back up to the brunette. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices a crowd gathered behind them and an idiot with a smart phone and Clarke wonders why they’re being filmed. Then she feels her hand being yanked downwards as Green Eyes kneels and shoves her documentation back into her broken briefcase, Clarke can feel her center of gravity shifting as her free hand flails, a squawk leaving her lips as her stomach lurches and she falls forward onto the brunette. 

Clarke’s head is spinning with the sudden movement and she has to force the bile rising up from her throat back down. Vomiting would not be a good second impression, after all. Her fingertips run along the line of Lexan’s suit jacket. She’s  _ so _ beautiful for a complete dork. Clarke bites her lip. She wants to kiss this beautiful disaster. She wants to run her fingers along the curve of her ribs, wants to tug at her suit jacket and pull her into a bruising kiss. Green Eyes’ eyebrows are twitching. She might be having a seizure. 

Clarke pauses. 

She can hear footsteps. Angry footsteps. She freezes, her hand lingering against the soft silk of the brunette’s blouse.

“For God’s sake, Lexa.  Hurry up or you're paying.”

_ Oh.  _ Well. That makes more sense. Lexa is a much more conventional, far less “child of the forest”.

Clarke barely has time to see who’s talking before two strong hands grasp  _ Lexa _ under the arms and yank her up. Clarke squeaks and tumbles onto the floor. It’s Tall-and-Terrifying.

_ So that’s where she’s seen her before. _

Tall-and-Terrifying has a firm grip on Lexa and is staring directly at her. Clarke doesn’t usually scare easily but a look from this lady makes her want to run for the hills. Instead, she slowly rises from the floor and meets Tall-and-Terrifying’s impassive gaze. Clarke’s mouth goes dry, Christ, she looks like she could flatten a three hundred pound man with her hand tied behind her back. She licks her lips. Time for a graceful retreat, she’s way too hungover to go ten rounds with this woman.

Her voice cracks slightly as she says

“It was nice to meet you,  _ Lexa, _ perhaps I'll see you at that coffee shop.”

She staggers slowly past the brunette, out of the precinct and into a taxi. She’s going back to bed. Raven can look after her for once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >.> Lots of crack!
> 
> There will be more - maybe another couple of chapters.
> 
> I’m writing this in tandem with my Orpheus fic - the updates may slow to once a week, maybe a little more. We’ll see, it may be fortnightly thing.
> 
> If anyone wants to talk about these two idiots and their exploits, or has any concrit or just wants to babble at me feel free to hit me up on tumblr under jixorpuzzle. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


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